Why?
by etterZ
Summary: An original, my first short story by me. Keep in mind I have no beta reader, but I tried my damnedest. Military (Navy) themed, self-reflecting from the characters perspective after their death. Reviews are greatly appreciated, will start actual fan-fics if this all goes well. Thanks!


**Why?**

I'm not entirely sure why I did what I did. I know the requirements, the rules of engagement- I know it all. So why didn't I- rather, why _couldn't_ I shoot? It was all there: opportunity, capability, intent. I would've been shooting for defense of self and others, _so why didn't I?_ For the longest time, I didn't have an answer for that. Maybe I still don't and I'm just talking out my ass, trying to find an excuse for my actions.

Let me go back and try to explain myself: I'm dead. I've been dead for two months, so I'm still fresh to this self-reflection-in-death thing (time is nothing to me now, the days all tie together). I was 18 years old when it happened; a brand spanking new adult, thrown into the real world without any prior experience. You see, I joined the Navy at the age of 17 and turned 18 in basic training. I had no idea how the world really worked. I was truly "growing up" in the military. A great difference compared to what other kids my age were doing. Sometimes I wondered if I made the right decision in joining so early. But I don't anymore, since it can never be changed.

I made it through boot camp just fine, with few hiccups and not a spot on my record. Afterwards, I want to MA (Security Forces) "A" School, where I learned the essentials of being a cop: regulations, procedures, general knowledge, how to shoot, etc. I got OC sprayed- an experience I wouldn't wish on my enemies. We also did a lot of stuff dealing with the basic weapons we would be working with on a daily basis. I wasn't that bad of a shot to be honest- I was actually titled a sharp-shooter. After that, I went to MWD "C" school, which is a different story for a different day.

One of the things I rather enjoyed and would've liked to have spent more time on was FATS (Fire Arms Training Simulator) "shoot or don't shoot" exercises. A good majority of the time, I shot when I was supposed to, usually firing off 5-7 rounds, without little hesitation. Where was that training- that _instinct_ when I really needed it? Why couldn't I have just taken the damn shot?! I apologize- you'll find I tend to repeat myself sometimes. I ask myself that question often, even though my answer is extremely credible, at least to me. _And that's all that really fucking matters, right?_ If I feel justified in the actions I took, then fuck your opinion. I'M DEAD ANYWAY! Your words mean nothing to me... yet here I am, telling my story to those who care enough to read it.

I was standing a gate watch on my base- I remember, it was a Saturday night- well, early Sunday morning. Clear skies, the moon shining, making our base a beautiful blue-ish color. My partner (for the sake of the story, lets just call him Red) and I had been on post for about 3 hours already and we were growing bored. There wasn't much traffic coming onto the base just yet, everyone was still out partying and drinking their livers away. We were making small talk as the night when on, talking about this and that, family, about all the topics under the sun, when he sighs and says "Man, I just want _something_ to happen. Some action. I'll take anything at this point". I thought about his words for a moment, about to tell him to be careful what he wishes for. As soon as the words were to leave my mouth, a man approaches our gate. I looked at Red with that trademark look that I had and we both knew something was up immediately.

This guy was swaying as he walked and the alcohol he had drank was whafting off him in droves. He was drunk as drunk could be. It was an overwhelming scent. I don't remember exactly what he looked like now- death will do that to you. It makes you forget minor details and events of life. All I remember was the smell of him and the malicious intent I could feel from him. He was asking for trouble. The guy stumbled up to us without providing I.D., asking us all these irrelevant questions and telling us all these ridiculous stories. Looking back on it, I don't even think the man was military at all. We weren't getting anywhere with him, so we contacted the watch commander and made other units aware of the situation, asking them to put back-up on standby. We were told to follow procedure and try to deescalate the problem, so we did- or rather, tried to. Things got nasty pretty quick after that. The guy took a swing at Red, catching him totally off guard, "motherfucker," he cursed under his breath. The thing about Red was that he had a short temper. So, what did he do? He threw a punch back.

Things were progressing quickly and I was starting to worry, it was at this point where I could've either gotten involved myself or used OC spray or my baton (Red could have as well, if he hadn't lost his temper). But for some reason, I didn't. I knew what I could do, and I didn't do anything. I was frozen. Drunk and Disorderly landed a brutal hit to the side of Red's head, knocking him down and rendering him weak just long enough to reach into his pants pocket. That was when my heart sank to my stomach and my blood froze in my veins. _Shit shit shit... Is he...?_ I could barely breathe. I reached for my radio, about to make a call, then I decided it was pointless. I knew there wouldn't be time for back-up to get there. Red wasn't getting up anytime soon, he was badly beat up but alive. Instead of reaching for the pistol on my thigh and shooting that bastard down like I should've, the world went in slow motion and I ran between the man and my partner, getting there just in time to see a barrel pointed center mast. I saw the barrel pointed, I saw his finger hug that trigger, I saw the flash.

I felt the pain. Searing, fierce, brutal pain. I _felt_ the bullet sink into my flesh and bury itself deep in my chest. I felt my body tense for a moment and slowly let loose, falling to the ground. I laid there for what could only have been a few seconds and then suddenly. everything just stopped. I saw nothing, heard nothing, understood nothing. It was void. It was at that point that I knew I had reached the end of my life. Its funny, I think. When I was alive I thought that when you died, that was it. There was nothing but black and that was that. No trip to Heaven or Hell, no judgement, nothing. As it turns out, that is _not_ the case. In the midst of the darkness, I felt myself being propelled outwards. I could open my eyes, and when I did, I saw myself. _Huh...? What's going on?_ I saw my body sprawled out beside Red, I saw the man who shot me standing there, mouth open. I saw Red stir and come to; he looked toward me- god, was I an ugly sight. Those second-chance vests we were issued don't protect you from shit at a pointblank range.

My head was thrown back, my skin was pasty white, my arms were spread out. You could see the entrance wound and the blood seeping out from it. _My uniform is ruined..._ Like that was my main concern. It was like I fell gracefully; it was truly a gruesome and beautiful sight. I was watching- _seeing_ myself and what was going on, despite knowing I was dead. In my peripheral, I saw Red slowly reach toward his belt, his hands were shaking and he was crying. _Don't cry for me... Stop... STOP!_ I was mad, surprisingly. I wanted so badly just to take his hands and hug him. There's nothing that kills me more (ha-ha) like seeing a man cry. I hate it. Anyway, he reached for his gun- the man was paying him no mind, I guess he sobered up pretty damn quick. Red pointed at him and shot, and he was down instantly. I looked at my partner, absorbing the look I saw on his face. He looked shattered and a mess, crying with a bloody nose and some fractures. "Dammit... Dispatch, send medical transport for two..." he said into his radio. _Good man,_ I was happy he kept his head and was able to follow protocol.

He started trying to resuscitate me, knowing it was hopeless. I think he was just trying to find something to do until medics arrived. He started talking to me. "I know you probably can't hear me," he started. "But you saved my life, Half Pint. I just want to thank you for that. I'm only sorry I can't do the same for you..." _Aw, shucks._ I felt so glad knowing that my partner was okay. The anger about not taking the shot hadn't settled in yet. He stayed with me until the medics arrived to take me and my killer away in body bags, and that was that. I was officially dead to the world.

I would tell you all about the service and all the stuff that went down after my death, but I didn't want to watch it all. I didn't want to see the looks on my friend's and family's faces as they watched sailors in dress fire off the 21 gun salute, play the haunting and sad melody that is taps... give the folded flag to my father... lower my body down the hole that is my final resting place. I didn't want to see that, and why would I? I can imagine it all pretty well myself. I've seen many military funerals, the next one always more devastating that the last. My own probably wasn't much different.

Now you know what happened, how I died. Why did I do it, you ask?

 _That's something for me, and me alone to know._ Maybe one day I'll be ready to disclose the reason why I willingly kept my gun down and took the bullet for my partner. But now's not the time. Truth be told, _I was just bored._ Being dead does get boring, you know? And the weight of having my story unheard to the ears of the curious world of the living was wearing me down.

 _Now you know._


End file.
